Salt in Old Wounds
by YamiSionnach
Summary: Arcade Gannon likes to solve puzzles


Arcade liked to think he was a smart man, more accurately he liked to think he was a clever man. He could speak a dead language, advance medical science to recreate old world medicine and was very good at puzzle solving. The puzzle that was the human mind was especially easy since most humans and former humans fell into categories where it was with a simple list of questions he solves them. If those humans were not one of two men for which categories were inapplicable.

The first of these men was Craig Boone; somehow he just couldn't be pegged as a specific type of man. Nothing quite defined him, just when Arcade had picked a label something bubbled to the surface of the stone man's face that just didn't match his choice. When they had first met, he thought Boone was under the same mental process that he was. That he was an avid hater of the legion and one who had left their faction for other pursuits. Of course that was still true but that wasn't the whole picture; Boone just seemed to fit every possible category or not quite any of them.

The second was the unnamed Courier; Arcade didn't even know what to do with the man. This human seemed to exist on a plane of morality the world just would never understand; he did everything yet nothing. The Mojave treated him as some sort of savior, he would stop and protect, go out of his way for those around him but after his task was done he was like sand in the wind. Arcade had been traveling with him for some time, over the last few months but he couldn't read the man. What was so baffling was how the Courier was so utterly neutral about the world; no matter the consequences he served everyone but was his own master.

Arcade became obsessed with the puzzles that were these men; baffling his every thought when waiting in the casino untouched by time. His days were spent alone or with Boone; the other companions sent back to their respected homes once their individual requests of the Courier had been appeased. Ever more baffling was how their lives had been improved by the Courier's actions aside from Arcade's and Boone's.

Another anomaly Arcade had found; he had been seduced into joining this merry band of outcasts yet it did not take long for Cass to become drunk on her own poison and take her faithful bringer of justice to bed. Cass had spent her night with the shining knight she had believed the man to be before bidding farewell to those who had come before her and returning to her route among the caravans. The Courier did not seem to care about gender, content to treat it as simply a way to kill time and procreate the species as far as women are concerned.

It wasn't just people like Cass either; Veronica had confidently told Arcade that she had no interest in the Courier, only that the man was excitement embodied and she wanted nothing more to travel across the Mojave. An odd girl easily categorized as sheltered and wanting adventure, with an overlap into getting back to basics. He had enjoyed Veronica's friendship but without a word of goodbye she had returned to her bunker, what a cold shoulder. Yet it seemed that the Courier wanted it that way; Veronica was by far the strongest of the many but was dispatched as if he had grown bored of her. No malice from what Arcade understood; just a wave and nod of the head for her to return home.

There was just too many to mention, he had seen all of them come and go unless they were Boone. Now that was another piece that complicated this puzzle; sure the former First Recon was one hell of a sniper and easy on the eyes when he wasn't looking down the scope of his rifle but not nearly the strongest or easiest to deal with. Boone was almost synonymous in Arcade's mind with the phrase 'psychological trauma', just by glancing from across the room he could see Boone's eyes flicker as if watching a memory. That memory being horrid in its own respect; the shakes and tremors up the man's arm and little pin pricks of sweat giving the face a sheen of terror and pain.

Everyday those symptoms would get worse; a few days alone with the Courier left the ever stoic man shaken and seemingly ready to put a bullet through his own head. Arcade had been keeping a close watch on Boone and the broken psyche within; Arcade knew that Boone knew he was watching him. Arcade knew he also hated it, being a sniper tended to make one very unnerved when they could feel eyes following their back. Yet he never acted on his training, Boone would sit there compliantly reading a gun magazine or cleaning his gun while waiting for his wounds to heal. Arcade felt that Boone perceived this as an act of compassion and was ignoring it because he didn't know what to do with it; but Boone was a passionate man so compassion was not beyond his grasp.

It had been a long time with just the two of them alone in the suite, mindful of each other but not avoiding, Arcade always ate while Boone bathed and vice versa, never stepping past eithers path unless it was absolutely necessary. Those moments where Arcade had to interact with Boone were special to him since Boone never talked to anyone else even when the hustle and bustle of people coming in and out was high. Boone had explained once that he had tried avoiding human contact, never explaining why but that didn't matter, and how it turned him into one of those machines that settled the wrong way in his mind.

Arcade was surprised to find that Boone was something of a chef, taking time out of his day to prepare something edible that could also be palatable, something fairly rare in the wasteland unless you were the Ultra Luxe. Arcade had asked Boone about it, Boone didn't care either way since he had never been; not a man for the bright lights and people wasting their lives on greedy pursuits. The Courier offered, once he was back, a trip to see the sights, the face he held was as plain and unreadable as ever but both declined.

The week was an odd one with the Courier staying in one place for so long, taking time out of everything to interact with his 'family'. Arcade found the man in good tastes, being so intelligent and dedicated to medical as well as strange fields of science. Even to add a little spice was the Latin, he had never known some man from the Mojave would be so versed in the tongue of the long since dead. The puzzle pieces were falling in until the Courier changed the game, from family to potential fuck; the slightest leering glance and a phrase or two so dirty one must never speak it louder than a whispered breath. This puzzle was strewn across a labyrinth in which Arcade was so far gone he didn't even bother trying to find the entrance; Arcade just opened his arms granting the Courier and himself a night of tension relief.

Sex with the Courier was as hard to define as was the man, not in the sense of good but just between Arcade and his brain it was GOOD sex. 'Mind blowing' he would quip at himself whenever he found himself thinking of it on a lonely night with vodka and a bubble bath alone when Boone was called out. But it was more than sex, not making love nor trying to dominate the other; it felt as if he and the courier had become one. This puzzle he had been trying to solve for the briefest of moments was while losing himself in the Courier's arms, as though they finally met on the same plane of morality and existence.

Arcade was forever enraged at this realization, finally he could wrap up everything and return to his duties satisfied but he just let it slip past him, he had never felt as stupid as he did that very moment. Not to mention this Courier had forced his brain to wax poetically both in English and in Latin; no man can be forgiven for such a thing without a second round between the bed sheets.

However the puzzle itself was taking form, finally having seen the solution he could work a way to get there. The Courier had left Boone alone this time, Arcade being chosen for his medical prowess and laser pistol that would render most Deathclaws dead in a single shot. Only after a few days of travel did he find out why only he and Boone remained. Soon the final battle would be upon them and Arcade was tasked with collecting the remnants of the Enclave that had gone into hiding in the desert.

He and Boone were only pawns in some chessboard being played by this man and the super powers of the Mojave; but he felt no malice for this. The Courier only wanted to leave the land as it should have been left, in the hands of those who have worked to bend it to their united will. Arcade was not what he saw himself as and somewhere inside he knew that, he wanted to see them work together as they once had and go down in blazing glory protecting a land they had called home for the better part of thirty years. The Courier promised to make this happen on the condition that Arcade return to the casino and decide on whether he wanted to live as a doctor or die as Enclave.

Boone had been holding a gun; Arcade did not think when he rushed in so spoke the wound and blood running down his side from the shocked trigger pull. Boone should have known that someone would have returned to the casino to get him, what had been going through his mind when the elevator rung its arrival? The pain was nothing to the sudden regret in the sniper's eyes, a man that had killed so many, losing his cool over a flesh wound? Something had pushed him to a very vulnerable tipping point; no, Arcade knew why Boone was here and what he was thinking about. The Courier had asked them the same thing.

Boone was very good at following instructions, so Arcade was not surprised that under his direction and Boone's previous experiences the wound dressing was done well. Arcade neatly disposed of the gun and had Boone sit across from him at the dinner table suddenly feeling like a father about to lecture his son. He had felt quite silly thinking himself younger than Boone, not knowing the opposite to be true.

Arcade got right to business and asked about the gun for which Boone had no reply, only a very strange glance down and back up onto Arcade's face with eyes avoiding his. The awkward silence meant nothing under the weight of whatever Boone was about to say but was avoiding; Arcade cleared his throat and caught Boone's attention. He asked Boone to say nothing until he was done, making a stab at Boone's hesitation to speak first; Boone did as asked and said nothing when Arcade's origins were revealed.

Boone let Arcade talk and talk he did; mostly talking about how the Enclave did do good things even when over all they were comic book style villains lead by an amoral computer. He complained that even the best of them were hunted down for nothing more than being associated with the crazies and how he had nothing to do with them outside his education. Boone let him talk until his throat was dry and was wheezing quietly when he finally stopped to breathe.

Arcade was crushed when Boone finally spoke, a soft sentence that he had known, known that Arcade was Enclave and that the Courier wanted the remnants to reform to defeat the Legion. Arcade felt betrayed that he had been walking on eggshells this whole time and the sniper knew that he was Enclave, letting him believe that Boone was still going to shoot him on site if he even considered making Boone his friend.

Angrily Arcade made a motion to stand but Boone beat him to the punch, the sniper moving quickly and holding the much weaker Arcade to his chair until he was sure the doctor would not try to run away.

Boone finally began talking, first off addressing that knowing that Arcade was former Enclave and as a former member of the NCR he was obligated to turn in or kill the doctor; even that he had considered it. Yet Boone was quick to clarify that it was only for a moment before he found the doctor to be a charismatic and smart man that following orders was not always the best course of action. He raved without breaking character about Arcade, the doctor's skills, his way with words and how he seemed to be the only person that even noticed that he was so unhinged. Thankfully Boone stopped before Arcade exploded from his inflated ego.

After their respected confessions came the show and tell of their respected missions to find closure. Boone went first this time around but Arcade wished that he hadn't, the story of what had happened to leave this man so jaded was terrible at best. Arcade found himself bowing his head in shame as Boone continued, summarizing his last ten years of life in lemans terms for the strangely sheltered doctor. As much as Arcade felt that he would regret the action he approached Boone softly saying his first name and kissing the man.

Boone did not reel back in disgust but did not respond in any way to Arcade's affection, when the moment ended it was suddenly very clear why he had done as such. The men had come to an understanding, Arcade had learned when he was much younger that men need to be pandered to and Boone had remembered for the first time in a perceivably long time that a warm body was very nice to have.

Boone did not need to know about Arcade's mission, he could guess what it entailed based on the ramblings of his friend; having a friend was quite the rare pleasure for a sniper as was a wife and children. Boone found the idea of a friend comforting, a friend was not required to remain attached to him by the hip and he didn't feel the need to protect them with unrelenting passion. A different feeling from what the Courier invoked, that unnerving feeling that the man was on some higher plane of morality and was looking down on the poor man who killed his wife thinking it merciful.

The Courier made his way into conversation, as he always did; Arcade found that he could not bring himself to hide what he had done with the man and could only blush as Boone asked him more about it

Trying to explain ones sexual leanings was quite the exercise in intellect, what it is that shifts a traditional propagate the species to finding that the bits dangling between men's legs made you weak in the knees. Arcade found himself stumbling through defining something as abstract as 'love' but found himself oddly endeared by the sniper who just sat and diligently listened. The only explanation that he could come close to was that he knew from a very young age that how he saw other boys and men was quite different to how they saw him. Arcade explained that it was just an inkling, a gut feeling that he was not like the others and Boone just nodded gently; the sniper privately knew what that felt like… To look at another with feelings that one should not…

Arcade made a pointed comment about Boone zoning out and how if he opened the can of worms than he needed to keep fishing. And so he continued about making his way in the charismatic courier's bed, the following moments of his life described in poetic detail and mostly in Latin. After all there was no need to disgust the sniper, not when he was trying desperately to become his friend; Arcade was meddling in the man's affairs. Boone needed someone that would still be there after everything, his ability to forgive himself and recover was partially hinged on someone being there to fix what was going to break. So he explained in terms that Boone may know, the feeling of holding someone who you loved whole heartedly and knowing that you may never do so again. Even more that you desperately feel that you would do anything, _anything_ to make them happy.

Boone spared him an understanding glance… It was enough; Arcade stopped talking and an awkward silence settled over them. It wasn't over whelming to be settled with this kind of silence but it felt like a step backward, back to those weeks ago where they passed each other with nary a grunt or eyelash bat. As the time ticked on they would exchange glances, just a slight meeting of eyes before they would look away; Arcade silently screamed to stop acting like a little teenage girl. They were not capable of a sexual relationship; there was no way that anything was going to happen between them… Yet Arcade was still admiring the… younger man, he just couldn't get over that… for his assets and the relationship, the chink in that metal, robotic shell he wore.

Something had to give, since something finally had given. The scientist waited, quiet and controlled and… Boone let out a sigh; it was a mix between someone who was weary with life and someone who had something to say. Arcade was on the edge of his seat. So quietly stood the sniper of the first recon and he stepped over to the scientist he was ordered by his superiors to bring in and held for war crimes… The couch untouched by time barely creaked as he lowered himself down onto it, and Arcade had to swallow a yelp as a heavy arm came down across his shoulders.

The half-hug… well he was not prepared. He was unprepared for anything that Boone had or will do this day; again he couldn't pin down this man. Nothing and everything fit him so well that it actually was causing Arcade physical pain to dedicate time to thinking about it.


End file.
